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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447479">Driftwood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlessmondays/pseuds/Moonlessmondays'>Moonlessmondays</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergent, F/M, a bit tragic really, although no active triggers i suppose, and may pose trigger warning for some, anyway i will add more tags if anything else applies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:54:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlessmondays/pseuds/Moonlessmondays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“When Phryne receives a telegram from her mother informing her that her father has disappeared again despite her efforts in assuring that he was signed, sealed, shipped and delivered right to their townhouse London, she decides to take matters into her own hands. She aboards her plane and attempts to find a way to wrangle her father and deposit him to her mother. Inspector Robinson tags along, of course, because whatever they do - they do best, together.”</p><p>Canon Divergent.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phryne Fisher &amp; Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! New to the fandom but absolutely crazy about these two. </p><p>This will stray a bit away from the events of Season 3 but some if not all of the cases still sort of applies in this timeline. You'll see.</p><p>For my fave, Anna, who brought these two into my life by introducing me to this wonderful show!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>~ Prologue ~</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Phryne receives the telegram her mother had sent her informing her that her father had escaped their house again, despite the fact that he had been deposited quite unceremoniously by one of Phryne’s trusted friends right at the doorstep of their London townhouse, she’d felt as though she’d been bathed in icy cold water. She’d felt dreadful, and frankly responsible for this minor lapse. She had seen him walk up the gangplank, watched the person check his ticket and had even stood guard on the dock and waited till they cleared the bay. Apparently, that hadn’t been enough. She should have made sure to deliver the old man herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quite honestly, she feels rather like a colossal fool to think that her father would listen to reason - she had long since accepted that her father is lost, in every sense of the word, and her last bit of faith and trust in him have now gone down to ashes. Begrudgingly, she supposes she’s got the ingenuity to escape from him, for her mother has always been docile and amiable, if not a little bit gullible where her father is concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss?” she hears her trust companion’s voice from somewhere behind her and she turns from where she’s been standing - in the middle of the entryway, holding the telegram that’s been left to her, explaining in broken fragments how her escapee artist for a father had left the house without any trace or clue as to his whereabouts. Dot is standing behind her, brows furrowed in concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phryne releases a long drawn breath and shakes her head. Drastic times call for drastic measures don’t they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to need to pack, Dot, quickly,” she intones rather heavily. She would much rather really not do this, not when there are far more pressing and much more interesting things happening here in Melbourne, but it seems to her that nothing short of her delivering Baron Fisher herself would make certain that he stays the hell put.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without question, Dot scurries up the stairs to start packing up Phryne’s things.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>. . . . .</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>News of Phryne’s plans are really quick to fly and land right into Jack Robinson’s ears. It seems to be quite handy that Jack’s constable just happens to be Miss Fisher’s companion’s beau. At first he’s appalled at the very idea of Miss Fisher’s plans, but then he realizes that she’s just brilliant enough to pull it off. Anyways, trust Phryne to just shock the system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her entire existence is a shock to the system, after all. A delightful one, he concedes, but a shock nevertheless. Despite having been cross at her mindlessness and recklessness at the best of times, he has begrudging respect for her seemingly insurmountable number of abilities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he still cannot get over that feeling of dread that filled him when he’d thought it had been her in the motorcar accident - lifeless. And now...now she wants to fly across the atlantic to try and hunt down her errant father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d already had plans to visit her tonight for a nightcap like he often does (he has battled with himself for a long period of time over it, but really, at this point they can be considered friends, at least, and him visiting her seems justified - not to mention the more recent development of his feelings for her that he would not ever dare talk about with her - unless he is out of his wits due to copious amounts of nerve-tonic), but it seems like he must make that visit now before she leaves. From what Collins had let slip, Miss Fisher is in quite the hurry which is why Dot had cancelled on their plans for lunch - she’s needed in the house to help Miss Fisher get ready. The day’s been a slow news one anyway, and it doesn’t seem too much trouble to pay a visit to his favorite lady detective - though he would never really tell her that, so Jack had picked up his hat and with a quick directive to Collins to reach him at Wardlow should anything happen, he’s off to Miss Fisher’s residence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the outside, the house seems quiet, no signs of the turmoil he’s sure he’s about to find inside. Phryne is graceful under any kind of pressure, something he truly admires about her, but her father has always had the power to frazzle her to the core, and she’s sometimes skittish and almost always in a flurry in the times that he’d had the pleasure to deal with both older and younger Fisher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jogs up the few steps to her front door and pauses for a bit before he raises a fist to knock. It only takes him two taps against the glass before the door is opening and Mr. Butler’s face comes to view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inspector,” he greets cordially but always with an air of professionalism. “Come on in.” He opens the door wider and steps to the side to let Jack in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Butler,” Jack greets back, nodding lightly at the man before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He places his coat and hat to the butler’s awaiting hands. It seems his sudden appearance at the doors of Wardlow isn’t as disconcerting or surprising as he might have initially thought, because Mr. Butler only tells him that Miss Fisher is in her boudoir with Dottie, packing. Jack takes a glance at the narrow staircase in front of him and hesitation fills him. He’s never really been on the second floor of this house, except for that one time he’d been assaulted by Phryne’s father - or his nerve tonic, rather. He doesn’t feel confident just traipsing around there either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at the other man. “Er, if it’s all the same Mr. Butler, would you let Miss Fisher know that I’m here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Butler nods in understanding, making it easier for Jack. “Of course, Inspector. Would you like some lemonade while you wait?” he asks before leading Jack to the parlor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you, Mr. Butler,” Jack says and watches as the butler nods before disappearing and leaving him alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He comes back only a few moments later, a glass of lemonade in his hand. He gives it to Jack who has now parked himself near the unlit hearth, leaning against it. He thanks the butler once more, and the latter nods politely before bowing out of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is followed by Miss Fisher herself minutes later. She looks at him with a smile, although her eyes are a little bit tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack,” she greets him in that high-pitched, almost breathy way that she does. Jack finds himself drawn to that very sound, missing it when he doesn’t hear it in a day. That, however, is beside the point. “What brings you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Miss Fisher,” he greets back, tipping his head lightly and giving her a small, side smile - unnoticeable if you blink too quickly. “I heard that you’re planning to go out of town?” It isn’t so much of a question as a statement, but she nods anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, unfortunately, my father has gone MIA. He was dropped by a friend right to the front door of our house in London and had even gone to sleep with my mother, as she recalls, but she’d woken up without father in bed and when she’d come down, he was nowhere to be seen and none of the servants had seen him either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds exasperated, and rightfully so.  She pouts lightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I have now put it upon myself to find him and deliver him to mother,” she confides, sighing as she moves towards the room in that sweeping way that she does. She always manages to command attention to her everywhere, even when doing the most mundane of things, like walking to a room. She drops onto the chaise rather dramatically and turns her head skywards before focusing back on him. “The only way I can make sure that happens is if I make a trip up there and hunt him down myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there’s no safer way to do that, hmm?” he asks rather pointedly, although it is a true concern of his - and she knows that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyebrow raises in question. “Who lagged?” she asks rather unnecessarily for she already knows exactly how he’d found out. “Well, safety, unfortunately, is only second on the list of my priorities.” And, yes, of course it is. “My first priority is to get there as quickly as I can. The next ship to sail out from Melbourne to London isn’t sailing until Tuesday, and will get there 40 days later, and that, I’m afraid, would be rather too late. My father would probably be somewhere halfway across the world. I’ll take only half that if I do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack understands, of course he does, time is of essence, but her safety is of essence, too. “It’s dangerous, Phryne,” he tells her, although he’s quite sure it falls on deaf ears. She’s very much aware of the dangers, it doesn’t mean she cares or is scared of any of them. She’s a vivacious woman, and he admires her for it, amongst many other things he admires her for, but she’s not as concerned about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>safety as she is of her ragtag team she’s claimed as her family. If she only treats her safety in the same regard she treats others’, Jack would have one less thing to worry about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware,” she tells him, but they both know that. “But, I can handle a plane, as long as I don’t have to fly with Aunt Prudence.” She scrunches her nose at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thought dawns on Jack. It had not really crossed his mind earlier - probably because he’d been concerned about other things and had not had a spare moment to worry about it - but now that he’s thought about it...he’d assumed...well he doesn’t truly know what he’s assumed. “Is that so?” he asks, and Phryne nods. “So pray tell, Miss Fisher, who are you going with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>. . . . .</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phryne smiles as she climbs into the plane. She’s flown about a hundred times, it seems, but every ride feels like the first: exciting, exhilarating, and liberating. And now she has the pleasure to fly with the Inspector himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s happened rather quickly, really. He’d asked her who she’s going with, and she’d told him, nonplussed, that she’s going alone. She could hardly bring Dottie with her, although she knows her faithful and loyal companion would do so if she asks. Dottie is already deathly afraid of her driving, though she cannot personally see why, Phryne doesn’t want to give her a heart attack, no matter how willing. Jane is away in school, and even if she isn’t, she’s not about to drag her daughter across the world on a whim,  just because Phryne’s father disappeared. That leaves Bert and Cec, and she needs them to be guarding the fort while she’s gone. Mr. Butler is already very capable, but extra pairs of eyes to oversee aren’t some things she’s going to turn down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so alone it is - that is until Jack had been properly horrified at the mere suggestion and had decided, rather impulsively to put it upon himself to accompany her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s lying if she says she wasn’t surprised and curious, but even though she wouldn’t say it, she appreciates it. She’s not afraid to go alone, no, no, there are only very few things in life Phryne is afraid of (spiders and her growing fondness for a certain Inspector are among them), but she would admit - at least to herself - that she feels a lot safer knowing Jack will be there with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, everything they do, they do best together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she knows that he’s a man with responsibilities, and something like this isn’t really something he does so usually, so she’d been hesitant to appear too willing or excited that he should accompany her to this journey. She doesn’t want to sway his decision to come with her even more favorably to her just because she prefers to go with him than alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t given her time to argue, anyway though. He’d seemingly made up his mind, and Phryne wonders if his fear of her turning up dead in a ditch somewhere like he had that time he thought she had been involved in a motorcar accident solidified his decision. He’d quickly bid his goodbyes, telling her that she’ll meet him at the station because he needs to pack, too, and then alert the commissioner of some kind of trouble he has to make up to be cleared to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She barely had the time to say goodbye before he’s out of her door, a thudding sound following his hurried footsteps. She’d been a little more than bewildered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to make out of the fact that he would so willingly drop everything to accompany her, and only on the account of her safety, but she isn’t all that willing to dissect that and what that means to her, to him, and to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s been progress between them, some sort of recent development she’s a bit apprehensive to name, and this gesture is one of those things she makes a mental note of and files away in the compartment of her brain labelled “emotional things, analyze later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She instead readies herself for the long haul flight she has to fly by herself with Jack. Honestly, now she feels she has to actually be careful, with the inspector on board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then again, that’s an “emotional things, analyze later,” kind of thing, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had, of course, met him at the station as requested. He’d been in the middle of a phone call when she’d come sashaying inside his office, and he’d held one finger up, telling her without words to stay quiet. She threw both her hands up and leaned against the door, watching him silently. She hides the appreciative smile threatening to curl her lips up when she notices what he’s wearing. Jack is usually so impeccable, extensively so that she’s found herself wanting to rumple him up just a tiny bit sometimes. At that moment though, as he stands beside his desk, talking away on the phone, he looks casual, and handsomely so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s wearing a light colored pair of pants and paired it with a button up of the same color and a tan cardigan. He’s not a man of colour, she’s noticed, unless it’s his ties, but Phryne has to admit that his understated fashion has always looked good on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries very hard not to lick her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just then, he ends his phone call and places it back on the desk. Neither one of them knows how long they would have to be in England, but if Phryne has anything to do about it, it won’t be more than a fortnight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready to go, Miss Fisher?” he asks her as he moves towards her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods. “Yes,” she tells him. “Are you?” She’s curious about the lie he’s had to tell just to be given time off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he tells her. She knows that he’s aware of the question in the air that she’s leaving unsaid so he sighs and answers before the words are out of her lips. “I told them there’s some urgent family matter I have to attend in Wangaratta, for my parents and I’m not sure when I will be back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And they bought that?” she asks a bit incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulders lift in a shrug. “It helps to not have taken much time off in the past year or so,” he tells her off-handedly but it’s a statement loaded with sentiment she’d rather not unpack, and she’s sure neither does he.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaves it at that. “Do you even have family in Wanggaratta?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smirks at her. “I did,” is all he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so here they are now, in the tarmac, loading her two-seater plane and hoping for safe travels. Bert and Cec had driven them here, and Dottie had come along, hugging her goodbye with tears in her eyes. Hugh had followed them, too, aware of where the Inspector is going, and had promptly been sworn to secrecy. He’d also sworn to keep the Inspector updated about the station while he’s away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d all left after that, and Jack and Phryne had been left to their own devices. She looks at him through her sunglasses and beams at him as he looks at her in mock exasperation. He’s used to her by now, of that she’s sure, and she mocks-salute him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Contact!” she tells him, and with a roll of his eyes but no words, he turns the blades of the plane. “Get in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does as she asks with the blind faith they had with each other, and then they are off. Off to England to haul her wayward father back home.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jack worries over Phryne and tries his best to be there for her despite his own fears.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you everyone for reading and your kinds words and for sending kudos. I hope this will be as satisfying!  I'm taking creative liberties where it may apply, so if there's any incoherence or you know, just weird, then please forgive me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> <em>~ One~</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>�</p><p>Jack awakens to a vague sound of crashing and a faint but distinct taste of salt in his mouth. He isn’t certain of his whereabouts, but there is a pounding in his skull and a shooting pain in his right arm. Disconcerted, he battles with his eyes to open, squinting as the light filters through.</p><p>God, he’s in pain.</p><p>Blinking slowly, he tries to gather his wits about him long enough to open his eyes. His vision is rather blurry and he fights with the pain he feels. There’s something missing.</p><p>He is met with the vast blue sky once his eyes focus, and his hands find water when he slaps them down in an attempt to find if all his faculties are still functioning. So far, yes, with the exception of his right arm throbbing in an ungodly amount of pain when he moves it.</p><p>Suddenly, it hits him and the myriad of memories come flooding back to him like a wave, crashing on to him like it does on the shore.</p><p>
  <em> Shore… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Waves… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh, shit. </em>
</p><p>His mind’s eye conjures up the sickliest of his memories. Memories of the unpleasant and unanticipated storm slapping against his skin. He’d been travelling with Phryne, getting closer and closer to England, and they had been warned of some unpleasant weather - but nothing like the one they’d encounter. Despite Phryne’s best efforts and her commendable skills, the plane had succumbed to the bad weather, the heavy winds redirecting the plane away from its natural course, and the rain that had been batting against the heavy metal hurt their ears as much as it had hurt their skin. </p><p>Phryne had decided to land the plane when she’d spotted a tiny island, and she’d told Jack to jump, but despite the fears he’d had over his own life, the fears he had over <em> hers </em> had trumped it greatly and he had been unwilling to jump without her. She’d promised. She’d promised to come <em> after </em>him, she just needed to maneuver the plane so that they would still survive in spite of the wreckage, and he’d trusted her. He’d given her the blind trust that had come so freely between them as of late.</p><p>Phryne.</p><p>God, where is she?</p><p>The thought makes Jack jump up and, ignoring his sodden clothes, pounding head and throbbing arm, had pushed himself to find Phryne. She’s so stubborn, and he’d been a fool. He should have made sure they’d jumped together instead of believing the whole “I’ll come after you Jack” promise she’d made.</p><p>“PHRYNE!” he screams into the vast wilderness, unsure if she’d hear him or if she’s anywhere near his vicinity, or if  she’s even still alive. He refuses to let the bad thoughts reign because then he won’t know what to do with himself and there would be less chance of him finding her. “PHRYNE!”</p><p>His heart is thumping so fast he fears it might leap out of his soaked shirt. Where on earth is she? If she doesn’t survive this...God, he really just won’t know what to do.</p><p>He runs through the length of the shoreline, eyes peeled for any signs of the mischievous woman who has wormed her way not only into his crime scenes but more or less his heart and his life, and he realizes just how unwilling he is to lose her. This is a different kind of desolation from the motorcar accident he’d mistakenly thought she’d been involved in. This time he is here. He could have saved her but he hadn’t, didn’t, and now he can’t even find her.</p><p>He imagines a scene where she would be sitting on the shore, hair sticking to her head, clothes soaked but with a mischievous smile in her face. She’d rib him about death or near death experiences seem to follow them around, and he would think that it does seem to follow <em> her </em> around and he’s only a begrudging sidekick to all of this, but then he wouldn’t say any of that, happy and relieved to just have her breathing and alive and teasing him. He would haul her into his arms and hug her, propriety and honor and self control all be damned, he’s just glad he could even do that. </p><p>He’d never let her go.</p><p>However, such is not the case as finally, thankfully, he spots her, but it’s only her body, lying unmoving, at the very edge of the shore like a driftwood. The debris of the plane she owns scattered around her, or at least some of it, and Jack feels as though the world has stopped turning. His heart sinks into his stomach but he tries to buoy himself and think that just because she isn’t moving doesn’t necessarily mean the direst of things, she could just be as passed out as he had been.</p><p>His feet carry him to her before his mind could think further and then he sinks on his knees beside her, careful not to touch her in any different way lest he jostles her and breaks anything that shan’t be broken. He lifts his hand to touch her pale white skin. She’s pale on the best of days, her skin normally a color of porcelain, but she’s without color now and her usually warm touch is cold as ice. Her dress shirt and cardigan are tatters, there is a tear on her skirt, and she’s missing a shoe. There is also a nasty gash on her head, along her forehead, stopping short above her eyebrow. It’s not bleeding too heavily, thank God, and he hasn’t seen any other bruise or bleeding, but he’s sure there are broken bones there somewhere.</p><p>He tries not to fear for the worst as he tries to locate her pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there and he reckons he needs to act now. His experience during the war had taught him a thing or two about first aid and he tries to help her in any way that he thinks might - or even the ones he’s not entirely sure off he tries, and so he administers mouth to mouth resuscitation until she cough up a decent amount of saltwater. He strokes her hair back and waits until she’s at least breathing a little stronger. He tries to wake her as gently as he can despite the rising fear in his heart that she might not awaken.</p><p>This is his worst nightmare playing out right now and he feels so helpless. </p><p>He had once tried to cut her out of his life because he could not handle the fear of losing her. He’d known even then, even despite his denial of the true nature of his feelings for her, that losing her would wreck him, break him in ways he’s never even thought a man could break before.</p><p>He can’t deal with any of that, and the fears grow more intense every moment that her eyes don’t open. Sodding it all and thinking that they could resolve any breakage once she’s awake, he gingerly lifts her body into his arm and carries her into the drier part of the beach.</p><p>Under the shade, he puts her down and checks her over for other injuries, lifting her shirt gingerly. He finds bruising along her ribcage and he prays it’s nothing more serious, but he won’t be able to tell so he’ll have to make do to not touch them until she’s awake to tell him what she feels, lest he damages it further. She also has a long gash on her calf and he knows he needs to disinfect it somehow.</p><p>He loathes to leave her side, but he wants to make sure she’s a bit more comfortable and he also needs to disinfect her wounds, so he leaps to his feet and tries to make do with what he currently has. He gathers all the palm leaves and driftwood accessible to him and attempts his hand at a makeshift tent. It leaves a lot to be desired but at least it’s something to shelter them from the elements.. Phryne still hasn’t moved, although he is content that she is breathing better, and he prays to whatever is out there - he had ceased believing in anything after the war - that she may be kept alive and well.</p><p>Reluctantly, he makes his way to the shoreline once more where the debris of the plane is. He’s so sure he’d spied a luggage in there somewhere, although he isn’t certain if it had been his or one of hers. It doesn’t matter, really, or at least not too much, there must be something useful that they can salvage in any of it.</p><p>He makes it to the shore and spots the luggage in question. It seems to be his from the parts of it he can see, because he can distinctly remember the prints on her bags. Beside the wreckage of the bird sits a box with a large red on it and he sighs gratefully. At least Phryne had kept a first aid kit for precaution. He grabs both his bag and the first aid kit, then fishes out the flask Phryne had kept at her side with water still in it as it had come floating to the shoreline. He thanks his lucky stars for the small provision, although he knows there’s still the matter of food.</p><p>He’ll think of that later, but for now he has a patient to bandage and maybe later he can go up a tree and get some fruit or anything to eat. He had noticed the coconut trees just a little bit away from where he’d sent up camp, and for now that seems to be perfect. He won’t even have to let Phryne out of his sight for very long.</p><p>
  <b>. . . . .</b>
</p><p> </p><p>By the way the sun is sitting on the sky, Jack would hazard a guess that it’s already midafternoon. It won’t take long now before the sun sets and his worry settles into him a bit more ferociously. Phryne hasn’t woken up still and there isn’t much more that he can do. He’s disinfected her wounds as best as he can, debating with himself if he should wash her with salt water because the saline content would help disinfect, but he fears that the bacteria would infect her wounds and they are in no state to cure any infections at the moment. He settles for washing it with the water inside the flask, making sure to leave some for her to drink when she awakens. He dresses her wounds and then meticulously peels off her wet clothes, changing it with the damp clothes he’d dug from his luggage. He takes great care not to jostle her. He, then, changes his own sodden clothes, and then sets both his and her clothes out to dry.</p><p>When he’d made sure that everything’s settled and that Miss Fisher is fine, if unconscious, he makes quick work of climbing the coconut tree. He takes a couple, enough to sustain them for at least a day or two. He tries to break open the coconut with some stones he’d found around. He’s barely successful with that task, but alas, the coconut breaks open, and he devours an entire one, drinking the juice and eating the coconut meat in lieu of lunch. What he wouldn’t give for a taste of Mr. Butler’s famed sandwiches which has always been his favorite.</p><p>What he wouldn’t give to see Phryne’s eyes again.</p><p>He tries not to let the fear overtake him. He needs to be strong for her, needs to make sure they will make it through together. Phryne is strong in her own right, he knows that, admires her for it, but if he lets his own fears take over now, neither of them might survive the night. And so he busies himself with finding things essential for their survival - stones to turn into knives, more leaves and some of the tarp he’d found floating at the shore to use as improvised bedding materials, and some dried wood and leaves to use as kindling for later tonight, before he parks himself at the tent, waiting and waiting for her to show him signs of life. </p><p>Then he hears it.</p><p>It’s soft at first, so soft he thinks he’s imagined it, but he hears it again and it makes him leap to his feet, almost knocking himself over as he scrambles to get into the tent. He’s by her side in a second, his hand falling into her face delicately, cupping her cheek. She moans out somewhat pitifully, clearly in pain, and he tries to steady his beating heart. </p><p>She makes a mewling sound as her eyes flutter, then her chest shots up as she coughs up, but thankfully, there’s no more water, maybe it’s just her lungs coping after being compromised. His arms have a mind of their own as they wrap around her shoulders before he could think of much, and he pulls himself closer to her, trying to steady her.</p><p>She groans, her eyelids fluttering.</p><p>“Miss Fisher?” he calls out her name gently, willing her to come back to the land of the living with him. “Phryne, please.”</p><p>Her eyelids lift just a fraction and she gasps, probably trying to say something but no words are coming out. Jack fetches the flask and lifts it to her lips gingerly, helping her take a few, slow sips.</p><p>“Yes, drink, Miss Fisher,” he encourages a barely conscious Phryne. He takes the flask away when she lolls her head to the side. “Phryne?”</p><p>“Unghh,” is all that escapes her lips before she’s knocked back out.</p><p>Jack feels the helplessness fill him.</p><p>
  <b>. . . . .</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The orange glow of the fire that Jack had painstakingly had roaring illuminated the darkness of the island they seem to now be stuck in. Jack has gone as far as possible around, trying to survey the area and maybe figure out their current location. He hadn’t dared go far in case Miss Fisher wakes or takes a turn, either way, and he wants to be certain that he’s nearby. So far, it seems like the only inhabitants of this island are Miss Fisher and himself, but he hadn’t made it very far to know - he’s saving that particular kind of adventure for later, for when Miss Fisher is awake. </p><p>He has spent what is left of the day, then, sitting beside her, waiting for her to open her eyes. He’s buoyed by the fact that she’s managed to open her eyes even for a few seconds this afternoon, although she has taken a turn for less than stellar conditions. She’s developed a fever, scaring him half of his years, but he’s sprung into immediate action, doing everything he possibly can to get it down. She’s more or less settled now, and all he can do at the moment is let her body heal on its own.</p><p>The moon is sitting on the sky, bathing the entire island in its milky glow. In any other circumstances, perhaps in more romantic ones, he would have been delighted to be here with Miss Fisher, languishing in the sands, and perhaps making love under the brilliant dark sky, only the stars are left to witness. </p><p>He regrets now, not being as forthcoming to her about his feelings, perhaps a romantic overture or two would have sped things along in the romantic department, but he hadn’t been sure. He knows Phryne, knows her way of life, and though he reserves no judgments, loves her for all that she is and all that she is not, he can’t really say he can live the same. He’s liberal enough to not want the intricacies and tradition of marriage, but he does want her heart, all of it, and if he can’t have it, then he’d been happy to settle for friendship.</p><p>He’d been confused with her, and he admits that he almost always is. He understands her abhorrence of marriage, he’s been there, he’s done that, and if there is anything he’s learned from his first one, it is that it is messy and unnecessary, but he had been unsure of how to take their relationship further because he’s been just as unsure whether she has feelings for him in the first place.</p><p>Her reaction to Concetta and the supposed threat she’d posed had been enough for him to want to test the waters. And he has been planning to...to perhaps make a romantic overture to woo her, secure her heart and finally explore the feelings they’d been dancing around for the past year or so. He’d been willing to leave everything behind to accompany her to London, even if there’s really not much to it for him, apart from the assurance that he’s around should things go a certain way (case in point). He’s been planning to show her the extent of his feelings once they’d landed in London and found her reprobate father, but clearly, fate had other plans.</p><p>He looks over at her, willing her to wake up with his mind.</p><p>“Come on, Phryne, come back to me,” he murmurs softly, the worry seeping through his voice.</p><p>She remains unmoving.</p><p><b>. . . . </b> <b>.</b></p><p> </p><p>Jack doesn’t know when he’d fallen asleep or that he has fallen asleep at all, but he knows it’s very deep into the night when he opens his eyes. His fire has been reduced to almost embers, and he reaches over to stoke it, adding a bit more kindling and watching it roar into life once more.</p><p>Phryne has been sleeping still, and her fever has spiked on and off all through the night and Jack has tried his best to keep his eyes open to tend to her. He has probably dozed off after he’s gotten her fever down again the last time - he’s been dead tired, the after effects of the crash and not allowing himself time to rest, as worried as he’s been with Phryne.</p><p>“You need to wake up now, Miss Fisher,” he tells her as he smiles sadly at her sleeping form. “The world still needs you to save it.”</p><p>Surprisingly, it seems as though even beyond consciousness she can match his mind as he hears her groan, albeit softly, and he crawls next to her, taking her hand in his and stroking her skin in soft circles.</p><p>Her eyelashes begin to flutter and her eyes are starting to move behind closed lids. He sends a quick prayer that this should be it, that he’s finally about to see those beautiful blue-gray eyes again. His heart is thumping against his chest, as he waits. He’s always been a very patient man, but his patience has been wearing thin throughout the day, his anxiety has gotten the best of him.</p><p>She gasps, and very much like he had earlier that day, he helps her drink some water. He needs to find a source of clean water somewhere, or else they would be drinking solely coconut water for however long they’d be stuck here, but that’s very far down his list of priorities at the moment. Right now, his priority is Phryne.</p><p>“Miss Fisher? Do you hear me?” he asks. He is only vaguely concerned about how stupid that question is, his mind is filled with worry, and all he wants is for Miss Fisher to give him some hope that she is going to be okay.</p><p>“Ja-,” she begins to say his name but she wheezes, gasping slightly. He lifts her up a bit higher in his arms to help her speak, taking great care not to move her too much, in case he worsens any internal bruising.</p><p>“It’s okay, Miss Fisher, I’m here,” he consoles, running a hand up and down her back in a soothing manner. He barely resists dropping a kiss on her forehead.</p><p>He watches her rather intently as she attempts to speak, and she clears her throat before swallowing hard.</p><p>“Jack,” she murmurs, her voice just barely above a whisper. She blinks at him, once, twice, and she tries to smile at him, he’s certain, although it comes out more as a grimace.</p><p>“Hello, Miss Fisher,” he intones with a relieved smile. His heart starts beating at a more manageable pace, and he pulls her close enough to reassure himself that she’s here and she’s alive, and she’s not going anywhere. He touches the back of his palm against her forehead, feeling for temperature. She’s still warm, but at least it’s better than it had been all afternoon. He wants to kiss her silly for making him worry so much, but he’ll save that for later - when she’s a bit stronger.</p><p>“Hello Jack,” she rasps, her focus a little bit clearer now, it seems. Her voice is teasing, and trust Miss Fisher to flirt even when she’s been unconscious all day, battling the clutches of death.</p><p>He gives a slight nod. “Welcome back,” he says teasingly, inexplicably grateful to have her back now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me know what you all think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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